“Anna,” he said as though it were natural, “I hope that I am not interrupting your prayers.” I felt flustered. I moved over and sat down on my bed and gestured for my father to take my seat at the desk.
“No,” I said, and then realized he probably hoped I had been praying, “I just finished up. I was preparing to go to sleep.”
“I wanted to speak with you briefly before I went to bed,” he said. His voice was stern. But then, it was always stern. I could not figure out what he wanted with me. But I could not have resisted him if I had wanted to.
“Of course Father, what would you like to discuss?” I asked. I shifted nervously on the bed, my Father’s presence was never are harbinger of good news.
“I have noticed lately that you have seemed quite discontent,” my Father said and it felt like an accusation. He was not looking at me, but instead staring into the fire from the candle. It was true, I had been discontent, but I had not hoped to make it my Father’s concern.
“Oh no,” I replied, “I have been…” I started but my Father lifted his hand, silencing me.
“Do no lie,” he said acidly, then, he seemed to relax, “I believe that I have discovered the cause of your anxiety.” He said and my head began to pound. Somehow he’d found out. He knew what Joseph and I had done and now he was going to punish me. Worse, he was going to punish Joseph.
“Oh…” I said, not knowing what else to say. I looked at my Father, and he seemed just as menacing as ever.
“Yes,” he said, “I realized in the last few weeks that you are a woman.”
“I am,” I said in a faint whisper.
“And women, virtuous women, desire beyond all else to be married and have children,” my father explained.
“Of course Father,” I said, not even thinking about what his words meant. He obviously did not know anything. I felt sweet relief wash over my body. Perhaps my relationship with God was on the mend.
“Well, it will pain you no doubt to hear that Sarah Davis has died, just two weeks ago. You might have noticed that she was not at church last week,” my father said. I had not, in fact, noticed. I knew Sarah Davis, the wife of the Women’s Preacher, but I’d never been close with her. She was an old woman who sat in the front of the Church. She seemed nice enough, I was sorry that she was dead.
“How terrible,” I said.
“Yes,” my Father said, but in a way that showed he did not believe it to be that unfortunate, “Well, Pastor Davis is a man of strong, but swift emotions. It seems that he knew his wife was to die for some time and has already grieved deeply for her. He has decided to take a new wife immediately, as he needs a helpmate, someone to assist him. Especially with his two young daughters,” my Father explained. At first I was going to ask what this had to do with me, and the suddenly I realized it. My mind went blank, my body numb.
“Father…” I said, not knowing what I would say next, but my Father kept speaking.
“Tomorrow we will leave together and you will be made John Davis’ wife,” he explained, “Your mother and I are so proud.”
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